


Even Trees Can Topple

by embroiderama



Category: White Collar
Genre: Co-workers, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was something wrong with Peter, and Neal wasn't about to let him brush it off. Good thing he had Diana on his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Trees Can Topple

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [](http://sholio.livejournal.com/profile)[**sholio**](http://sholio.livejournal.com/)'s [prompt](http://collarcorner.livejournal.com/22282.html?thread=653066&#t653066) at [](http://collarcorner.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://collarcorner.livejournal.com/)**collarcorner**.

Some days working with the FBI were exciting--running around the city, pulling off cons for the greater good, saving the occasional damsel in distress and getting his hands on precious, beautiful things, even if he had to let them go into evidence or return them to their rightful owners. Some days were just shy of torture--long meetings where he wasn't allowed to contribute his opinion or expertise, in-services mandated from above, more or less anything with the word "evaluation" in it. The majority of days fell somewhere in the middle, and Neal felt himself slowly becoming accustomed to that. Mozzie would say he was drowning in the quicksand of mediocrity but prison was a far worse morass in which to sink and Neal couldn't quite forget that.

One good thing about ordinary days working in the White Collar department was that the relative quiet gave Neal the opportunity to look closer at the people he saw everyday, to see the trees in the forest. Days when everybody was working diligently but not urgently were the best days to watch and listen, to learn about things like Diana's obsession with Canadian hockey or Clinton's new relationship, the one he wasn't ready to tell anybody about. Noticing and remembering the details of the lives that went on around him was one of Neal's favorite hobbies, but he never forgot that it was a survival skill, too.

While he was glad to have his own desk in the bullpen, Neal liked working in Peter's office sometimes. It was good to be able to close the door and have fewer distractions while still keeping a sense of space around himself, and he couldn't help liking the high places, the positions with a view, with a vantage point. Mozzie said he was like a cat that way, and Neal was willing to accept the comparison Plus, working in Peter's office gave him one of the best opportunities to get insight into Peter. Even the house in Brooklyn was in some ways second to the office because so many of the details there were Elizabeth's handiwork.

On this particular ordinary day, Neal had a chair pulled up to Peter's desk, and they were trading files back and forth trying to find a pattern in some low-level frauds that had caught Peter's attention. It was a boring case overall, but working a puzzle with Peter was always interesting. Neal was splitting his attention between the case at hand and Peter himself because something was off. Neal couldn't quite put his finger on it--Peter didn't seem sick, but there was something unsteady about him, and that put Neal on edge.

Steadiness was one of Peter's defining characteristics, a kind of mental, physical and moral solidity that could shift slightly when necessary but seemed unlikely to topple or crumble from anything short of lethal force. That steadiness could make Neal crazy sometimes, wear him out from tugging at a stick that was sunk not so much in mud as in concrete, but at the same time he trusted it the way he'd been able to trust few things in his life.

Neal couldn't really say, afterward, if he'd stood to follow Peter over to the bookcase due to this uncertainty or if he'd just wanted to stretch his legs. Peter was talking about a case he'd studied in a Forensic Accounting class back in college, and he bent down to find the textbook, which usually sat like an anchor on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. As he stood back up, Peter stopped talking in the middle of a sentence and shot Neal an odd look. Neal opened his mouth to say something, only to have his own train of thought derail when Peter's face washed out to white and his usual sturdy posture began to wilt.

Neal's heart raced as he stepped in and wrapped his arms around Peter's chest. Peter was going down hard, and Neal didn't have enough leverage to stop his momentum but he controlled the fall. Neal hit the floor on his knees and leaned over sideways, bearing Peter's weight down to the floor.

"No no no no, Peter," Neal muttered to himself as he fumbled to put his hand on Peter's neck to check his pulse. He was able to take a breath himself when he realized that Peter's heart was beating steadily and he was breathing, even though it seemed faster than normal. His color was even coming back, though his face was strangely damp and cool. Neal looked up at the door but nobody was in the hallway, nobody had noticed Peter toppling like a tree with wet roots. "Peter," Neal said more loudly as he shook Peter's shoulder, and finally Peter's eyes fluttered open.

"Wha?" Peter swallowed hard and groped his hand up to pull at his tie. Neal pushed his unsteady hand aside then loosened the tie and opened the first button on Peter's shirt. "What am I doing on the floor?" Peter started to push himself up, but Neal stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"You passed out, stay put. I'm going to call Diana and see if somebody from Medical can get up here." What Neal wanted to do was call an ambulance, but he knew that Peter wouldn't appreciate the fuss if it wasn't necessary.

"No. Neal _do not_ do that." Peter sounded stronger, and when he pushed himself up again Neal didn't try to stop him. He stayed close as Peter scooted over to sit against the wall, and when Peter's face paled again Neal put a hand behind his back and pushed his head down between his knees. "Shit," Peter whispered.

"I don't like this. Can you breathe okay?"

Peter nodded then sat back against the wall again. "Yeah, I feel better. I'm okay."

"Does your chest hurt?"

Peter shook his head, looking exhausted. "I'm not having a heart attack. Just a head rush, I guess."

Neal was about to argue, but the door opened and Diana hurried in. "Boss! What happened?" She looked up at Neal and repeated the question. "What the hell happened?"

"I'm fine," Peter said, buttoning up his shirt as if that would prove his fitness.

"He passed out."

"I got a head rush."

"You were _unconscious_."

Peter knotted his tie and stood. He might have been shooting for nonchalance, but Neal saw the way he kept his hand on the wall, the new beads of sweat on his hairline. Diana crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. "I've got to say you look pretty bad."

Peter sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I guess I'm coming down with something. Will it make you two happy if I call it a day and go home?"

Diana raised one eyebrow and stared at Peter. "I guess you think you're going to drive."

"I--yeah. That's the way I usually get home."

Diana shook her head, implacable, and Neal loved her for it. "People who pass out don't get to drive. I'll take you home."

Peter sighed and appeared to give in. He gathered some files into his bag and nodded at Diana. "Fine. Let's go if we're going. Neal, just send me an e-mail if you put anything together here."

"Yeah, I'm not staying here." Neal couldn't get the image of Peter falling out of his head, the way he'd just keeled over like his legs had been cut out from under him. It wasn't right, and he didn't believe that Peter was okay. Diana and Peter were both giving him doubtful looks, but Neal wasn't interested in being left behind. He could leave on his own, take a cab and break into Peter's house, but he'd really prefer not to go that route.

"I'm agreeing to go home, Neal, but I don't need a sitter."

"I don't want somebody to send me back to prison if you pass out again and break your neck."

"You're a real humanitarian, Caffrey." Diana laughed.

Neal caught Diana's gaze, glanced over at where Peter was leaning against the door frame, then looked back at her and silently made his case. "Elizabeth's working an event, right? I'll just hang out with your dog until she gets home. No snooping, I promise." Neal didn't even cross his fingers behind his back.

Diana nodded. "I guess it's a group trip. Boss?"

"Yeah, okay." Peter sounded defeated and exhausted, and Neal didn't like to win that way but he'd take what he could get. What he wanted was to find a way to convince Peter to go get checked out, but he knew that pushing that wouldn't get him anywhere.

They made their way down the stairs and then down the elevator to the parking deck, and Peter seemed steady enough, if a little slower than usual. The ride out to Brooklyn was quiet, just NPR droning from the radio and Peter's unhappy silence from the front passenger seat. Diana pulled up in front of the house, looking relieved to be rid of them. Neal climbed out of the back seat while Peter gave Diana some instructions for the team, and he was simultaneously startled and completely unsurprised when Peter got out of the car only to grab onto the door as he swayed in place, eyes rolling up in his white face.

Peter was sagging down toward the pavement when Neal grabbed him and guided him back down into the seat. Peter's legs were still outside the car, and he bent over, holding his head with his elbows on his knees while Neal kept a steadying hand on his shoulder, afraid to let go. Diana rounded the front of the car and crouched down to get a better look at Peter.

"Hey, Boss? Peter?" Her voice was gentler than Neal expected. When Peter looked up enough to make eye contact she gave him just two choices. "Doctor? Or hospital?"

Peter sighed and sat up closer to straight. He looked better again, but Neal didn't trust it. "Let me make a call, see if I can get in to see my guy." He pulled out his phone then looked at them both pointedly. "Come on you two, give me a minute."

Diana nodded and walked about a car length away; Neal hesitated before doing the same. When Peter called them back a few minutes later he sounded frustrated and annoyed, and Neal couldn't blame him. "Fine. He'll see me. The office isn't too far away, Diana, do you mind?"

"Of course not. You ready to go?"

Peter nodded glumly and turned around to pull his legs inside the car. Sooner than Neal expected, Diana pulled up in front of a small medical office building and Peter opened his door.

"Wait," Neal said as he climbed out of the back. "Just wait."

"This is ridiculous," Peter groaned.

"Of course it is." Neal exchanged looks with Diana over the top of the car. "Will you stand up slowly? Please?"

Peter looked aggrieved by the whole thing, but he took it very slow and only lost some of his color and wobbled instead of turning white and falling down. Neal considered it an improvement. When Peter was steady he turned around to look at Diana. "Please go back to the office, Di."

She nodded. "Yeah, sure thing. You got this, Caffrey?"

"We'll get a cab."

"Okay. Feel better, Boss." Diana got back in the car, and as Neal shadowed Peter into the doctor's office he heard her drive away.

Neal wasn't looking forward to going through the whole sitting down, standing up, getting dizzy process again so he was glad when the receptionist waved Peter back as soon as he checked in. Left with nothing to do, Neal took a seat in the waiting room and looked at his phone. He wanted to call Elizabeth, but he knew that Peter wouldn't appreciate it and he had a feeling that he'd just about hit the allowable limit on getting his way with Peter for the day. With the decision made that he wouldn't call her unless something was wrong and Peter couldn't or wouldn't call, Neal resigned himself to paging through magazines.

He found a copy of National Geographic that actually had some interesting-looking articles, but he couldn't focus for more than a paragraph at a time. All he could think about was the way people seemed to be slipping away from him, or trying to. Kate--he could barely think about Kate without drowning in anger and grief and guilt and he had neither the time nor the space for that so he shoved it back in its fireproof box where it glowed like a coal, always. And Mozzie, he hadn't been there when Mozzie was shot, hadn't been able to do _anything_ , and Mozzie still seemed far more fragile than Neal ever wanted to see.

Peter collapsing in front of him was too much like watching Peter succumb to poison, too much like watching him very nearly die, and Neal had barely been in time then but he refused to let this new thing--whatever it was--get away from him. Or take Peter away from him. He'd accepted a lot of things in his life, but he wasn't going to accept this. Peter would have to go ahead and put him back in prison if he wanted Neal to stop being a pain in his ass, and Neal was reasonably sure Peter wouldn't go that far.

After nearly an hour Peter came back out into the waiting room, looking annoyed but far less likely to pass out. He sat down in the chair next to Neal with a heavy sigh. "So, I'm going to live."

"Well, that's good. I don't know what Diana would do to me if she thought I dropped the ball on this."

Peter snorted. "Be afraid." He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair then looked back at Neal. "Look, it's not a big thing. I had an appointment about a week ago, and he gave me a prescription for some, uh, blood pressure medication but I guess the dose was a little too high. So--" Peter lifted his hand up looking oddly embarrassed then rested his hand on Neal's arm and squeezed lightly. "They gave me some stuff back there plus a new prescription and I'm all back to normal now."

Neal nodded and gave himself a moment to swallow the relief that this wasn't going to be another crisis, another thing he couldn't stop, another loss. Then he grinned and shook his head at Peter. "So, I guess this means I don't have to smell any more deviled ham, right? The sodium levels must be stratospheric."

Peter stood up and started walking toward the door. "Go ahead, gloat at my expense. It's not like I don't hear enough from Elizabeth."

Neal followed and caught up to him as they walked outside. "Speaking of which, you're going to tell her about this, right?"

"Already did. I called her when they had me waiting around in the exam room to make sure my numbers were going to stay good. She told me to invite you to dinner, but you can head home if you want."

Neal looked down the street and waved his hand at an available cab that was half a block away. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

The cab ride was short, and when Peter climbed out behind Neal he was steady, rock solid, the way he was supposed to be. Inside the house, Elizabeth hugged Peter tight then watched him go as he went upstairs to get changed.. When Peter was out of sight, she turned and wrapped her arms around Neal, pulling him in close. "Thank you," she said into Neal's ear. He tried to hold himself back, but he had to give in and take the warmth she was giving him, the real kind of connection that could never be faked.

After a moment, Neal pulled back and Elizabeth stepped away, smoothing down the front of her dress. She led Neal back to the kitchen, talking about dinner and her plans for the spring and an art show she recommended that was within Neal's radius. Peter came back downstairs, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, and Neal hung back watching them move together in the kitchen.

Neal didn't think he'd ever have ordinary days that ended with the kind of magic the Burkes had together, but watching them made him want to hope and it made him want to protect their happiness with everything he had. Elizabeth turned to smile at Neal again, to draw him in with light words and a spoon for tasting, and Neal shook himself free of his thoughts. This _was_ his ordinary day, after all, and he'd take it. Given the alternative, he'd take it every time.


End file.
